I walk the empty streets in Braamfontein at 04:00 in the morning. I marvel at the empty streets that will look like a colony of ants by morning. 11 Biccard is a few metres away where my apartment is and by 09:00 I will be tested on anthropology, a section that I absconded the whole semester, so you can imagine how I feel. Although I occupy myself with this thought, I am fearful of life, more so for my laptop that has all the notes I need for the exam. I make a turn by Wits Art Museum joining Jorrison Street when I hear a muffled giggle. I stopped dead. I scan the area to locate where the giggle came from. I decide to walk in the middle of the road to give myself a safe distance should someone try to catch me off-guard.

I make a right turn at Biccard Street, my apartment is just down the street. The atmosphere is becoming misty. I am starting to feel giddy. This is starting to look like a horror movie.

A white Toyota Siyaya swerves in front of me. Two guys both wearing a balaclava approach me. My stomach is churning. I step back against the wall. ‘Oh my God. My laptop, my notes. How will I study without my laptop,’ I said. Another voice in my mind interjects, ‘You have bigger problems than your laptop Buntu.’

“Please take anything and leave me alone,” I say.

One of the guys chokes me pinning me against the wall. “P. Plea..se.” I cry again but it is difficult to speak when his hand is pressing me to the wall. The second guy searches my pockets. He pulls out my cell phone. My laptop bag that fell to the ground is now in his hands. I glance at the vehicle. I see shadows of extra two guys, one in the drivers seat, the other one at the back seat looks like a woman.

‘Focus on me idiot,’ whispers the guy pressing me against the wall. He clenches his large hand on my face, almost sliding it to my nostrils. I inhale the awful smell coming from his glove. Suddenly my knees are weak. My lungs are heavy ‘shit, I have been drugged’.

Cold splashes of water wake me up. It appears that I am on my feet tied against a tree. I hear voices of people talking, it seems there is more than four people now. I cannot see to confirm as I am blind folded. One of them that woke me up is Shadrek. He shifts the conversation to be about me.
‘Boss the lamb is now awake’ Shadrek continues, “I will appreciate getting this over and done with.”

“Mkhon’wezulu will tell you which parts to extract from him,” shouts the lady.

“Take off the blind fold,” said Mkhon’wezulu who is a traditional healer. I can see that even if I scream no one will hear me, this is a remote area. Mkhon’wezulu continued. “he must see what is being done to him. It is important for the ritual.”

“Let me go, I swear I will not tell anyone about this,” I plead.

“They all say that charley,” shouts the big guy close to the Toyota Siyaya. I recognise the voice he is the one that pinned me against the wall.

“Mrs Gotso over there wants to expand his business so we will require the lamb’s ear, tongue, and penis,” Mkhon’wezulu instructs. He demonstrates how Shadrek should cut them off.

“Should we slit his throat first?” asks Shadrek.

“No, you dummy. Killing him will take away his life force,” Mkhon’wezulu continues, “do not cover his mouth. The louder he screams the more potent the muti will be.”

I see it now. I am being sacrificed for muti. There is no escaping. I remember reading about this in anthropology that victims of muti murder hardly escape once they are caught.

‘Let me go. Please sir, I do not want to be a sacrifice. Let me go!’ I cry.
Shadrek advances towards me with his sharp karambit knife. I cry ‘no, please do not do this!’ He slices off my left ear and I feel my warm blood squirt and drool down my shoulder.

‘Make haste, Shadrek’ says Mkhon’wezulu.

‘Yes, boss’ Shadrek responds.

He unbuttons my trousers. I want to wiggle my legs to make it harder for him, but I am completed restrained to a tree. He pulls out my penis and plays with it like he was weighing its size.

“No, no, no please Shadrek!” I cry.

“Don’t call me like you my boss.” He says this while he slices off my penis. Blood is now oozing out and drips down to my legs. I feel that some have made it inside my shoes. It is pointless crying, no one will save me.
Mkhon’wezulu whistles, calling the big guy to assist Shadrek. He holds my jaws open while Shadrek slices off my tongue. I feel the taste of my blood. My cry is muffled.

‘Untie him and letting him be,’ commands Mkhon’wezulu.

Shadrek unties me with the big guy’s assistance. While on the floor I watch them store my body parts inside a cooler box, and they drive away.

Suddenly it occurs to me that these are the step that I have been trying to remember for my test. ‘What a pity that I have to die to remember them,’ I say.

Everything feels fuzzy now. I must be passing over to the afterlife. As I draw my last breath, I hear a faint voice, ‘sir?’. It is an angelic woman’s voice. ‘Sir, I need to clean over this area wake up’ it continued.

‘Sir! Please step aside I need to clean this area.’

I look around my surrounding. I am at the library. I am not dead! I look at the time it is 08:30 almost time for my test!